


in a week we'll be together

by OpheliaMarina



Series: Blue Moon [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaMarina/pseuds/OpheliaMarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If marriage is supposed to be the true understanding of two people, the connection of souls within life and beyond death, then in a lot of ways they're basically already married. There's no harm lying about the physical evidence of it when your bond transcends time and space anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in a week we'll be together

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is a semi-sequel to you as a warning sign, and takes place within the Save Chloe timeline. Alternatively, it takes place in a universe where Chloe is compelling and attractive when she dances.

The first time Chloe ever says they’re married, it’s to get a discount. Max probably shouldn’t have expected any less.

They’re in Las Vegas, about a month after Max’s nineteenth birthday, for no other reason than Chloe had wanted to see Las Vegas- they’ve been in San Francisco for a couple months before that, living out of hotel rooms and Chloe’s truck, and in Seattle before that, with Max’s parents. It’s this journey, the one between a new place that has become old and somewhere freshly new and fascinating, that makes Max finally start to believe that this could be their life, bohemian and exciting and together. 

And she’s been doing okay freelancing photography, considering the only place they’ve stayed in is cities, and Chloe still has some money left from working odd jobs and from what their parents had given them. Still, when Chloe pulls into the front of a hotel with a valet waiting out front, Max feels obligated to say, tentatively, “Uh, Chloe, I don’t think-”

“Relax, Max, trust me,” Chloe says, sliding easily out of the driver’s seat and tossing the keys to the valet, who doesn’t even look dubious or anything. Max looks around their surroundings worriedly as Chloe helps her out of the car, half-expecting to see the hellscape again. “Don’t look so suspicious, I got this.”

They’re in the heart of the city, and the hotel lobby glows white when they step inside, and Max can’t help but suspect they don’t have sufficient funds, but when Chloe’s confident like this, she’s always going to bend to her whims, at least to begin with. So she lets Chloe drag her to the front desk, lets her ring the bell and look at the concierge expectantly.

The woman who answers the ring does look slightly skeptical, which, if nothing else, convinces Max that they’re in reality, where Chloe is not someone who looks like a valuable hotel patron. “Hello, welcome to Treasure Island. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Chloe says, which makes Max double-take. “Under Price.”

The concierge types into the computer, nods, and says, “Mrs. and… Mrs. Price? The newlywed package?”

It’s super difficult not to react to that, especially when Chloe throws an arm over her shoulders and squeezes her, tight and smug. “That’s right.”

“Can I see your papers?” the concierge says, polite as anything, and Max does her best not to goggle as Chloe digs through the duffel bag to produce at least five sheets of official-looking documentation. It’s even harder to keep it together when, after handing them to the woman, Chloe pulls Max in tighter, turns her chin, and starts kissing her, slow and warm and a little dirty. 

It’s only when the concierge coughs that Chloe lets her go, teeth dragging away from Max’s bottom lip, saying, “sorry,” to the woman but not looking sorry at all. She takes the proffered keys, slings the duffel bag back over her right shoulder and wraps her left arm around Max’s waist, brightly says, “thanks!” to the now-slightly-annoyed-looking concierge, then hustles them upstairs with the speed of a mother with a crying child.

Good thing, too, because they’re barely in the hotel room door when Max finally manages to sputter, “What the fuck?”

Chloe hurriedly shuts the door behind them, then grins, pecking Max on the cheek as she moves forward to dump their duffle bag on the bed. “Don’t be mad, Mrs. Price. Good job keeping it together at the desk, by the way.”

“What the fuck!” Max says, this time with more feeling.

Unpacking Max’s box of photos to put on the dresser, Chloe says, “Well, I was being responsible, you know, as adults do, and looking for a place to stay while we’re here, and I just happened to see that this place had a this-week-only discount for newlyweds. So I spent two dollars at the library back in the college district to pull up some fake papers, and saved us about two hundred and got us a rad as fuck hotel room.” She grins over her shoulder back at Max, who’s still standing flabbergasted in the doorway. “Does my financial knowhow turn you on at all, Mrs. Price?”

“I don’t know, is calling me Mrs. Price working for you?” Max fires back, but it’s faint, and when she steps forward into the room (it’s very, very large, a king sized bed and a full bathroom, and it’s clean, miracle of miracles), she’s still not quite on the same page as Chloe yet. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you.”

That just earns her a grin, and Chloe pauses in pulling out their pajamas to cross over to her and kiss her again, like she had at the front desk but sweeter, amused, more genuine and not just for the show of it. Max can’t help but kiss back, even if she’s still a little annoyed about being kept in the dark about this fake-engagement thing. Chloe’s a better kisser than Max is an actor anyway.

“Come on, Max,” Chloe murmurs, grinning against her mouth then letting her go. “At least pretend being married to me isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever heard of.” Before Max can protest, say it’s not, obviously, she’s crossing to the full-wall window across from them and throwing open the shade. “Besides, it got you one of the best views in Vegas. Isn’t it amazing?”

It is a stunning view of the city, lit up pink and blue and white against the inky black sky. From here it seems the lights stretch for miles, could go on forever, and just below the buzzing neon of the buildings is the itching of the nightlife, people coming and going, losing and winning. And at the center of it all is Chloe, arms still thrown wide from spreading the shade and her back to Max, glowing and magnificent in the reflection of the life below.

Max swallows, reaches for the camera at her hip and takes the shot before it can disappear. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “It is.”

\---

They stay in Vegas for a week, because as much as Chloe wanted to see the city, she comes to the crushing realization that neither of them are old enough for most casinos fairly quickly. So they explore instead, find the edges where city turns to desert, where the neon lights are brightest, where people are happiest and wildest. They laze around in their hotel room and Chloe calls Max Mrs. Price to rile her up. Then they’re gone, out of the city like ghosts. 

“Honeymoon’s not over, babe,” Chloe tells her once they hit the highway again, and Max punches her in the arm, but they don’t pull the fake-married card out of the metaphorical wallet again for another six months.

\---

It’s not so much a financial issue the next time as it is a territorial one, but it catches Max just as off-guard as it had the first time. 

They’re twenty miles south of St. Louis, and Chloe is now twenty years old, the Second Decade done, and it’s not her birthday anymore like it had been in St. Louis but she’s still relishing in it, letting it be her birth month. Quietly Max is relishing in it too, letting herself be secure in the fact that Chloe has lived to see her birthday again, that this is real and will continue to be real, the both of them aging together like real people do.

They’re at some kind of club Chloe had convinced her into coming to, some rundown place that doesn’t card but still has enough money for strobe lights and a DJ and booze. She’d danced, because Chloe had made her, laughing and shimmying her shoulders as Chloe despaired of her, screaming over the music, “The hips, Max! It’s at the hips!”

Now she’s leaning against the bar, out of breath and pleasantly buzzed with endorphins and the one beer she’d downed. Chloe’s still going at it at the corner of the dancefloor, arms in the air and shouting along with the lyrics to a song Max doesn’t recognize. She’s shimmery with sweat and her hair is sticking to her forehead and her tank top is falling down her shoulders and she keeps giving Max a coy stare from across the room and she’s stunning. She looks like she comes from another world. Max has no clue what the camera policy at this club is, but she takes a picture anyway.

Suddenly a voice from behind her says, “That a Polaroid camera?”

She turns to see a man probably about a foot taller than she is leaning one forearm against the bar and looking at her with interest. For a moment she thinks his gaze might be following Chloe too, but when she glances over her shoulder his gaze stays where it is. “Oh. Uh, yeah, it is.”

“Don’t see those too much anymore,” he says conversationally. “You a professional?”

It’s still nice, even now, to say, “Yeah. Freelancer. But this one-” She waves the snapshot of Chloe dancing between her fingers- “just for pleasure.”

He leans forward slightly to look at it, and whistles. “That’s a great shot. You must be one hell of a photographer.” He winks at her, and it’s not drunk or even sloppy, just flirty, friendly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Oh. “Oh! Well, it’s nice of you, but actually, I-”

“Hey, babe,” says a voice, right next to her ear, and she jumps and turns to see Chloe, very much up in her space, bracing one hand against the side of the counter Max is leaning against. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Well, n-” But it turns out not to matter that much to Chloe one way or another, because what lingering space between them is immediately closed, and they’re kissing again like they had in the hotel lobby, languid and full and uncaring. Chloe’s hand curls at her hip, and when Max opens her eyes mid-kiss Chloe’s still so dance-soaked and her eyes are half-lidded and she’s too gorgeous, so damnably hot that it’s making it hard for Max to be the responsible one.

Still, she has to be sometimes. She breaks the kiss, lets it linger on their mouths for a moment because she’s not a saint, after all, then turns back to the man again. Chloe stays exactly where she is, their hips pressed up against one another, Max backed all the way up against the counter, and when she glances in the same direction as Max it’s with dry distaste.

“Sorry,” Max says to the man, and hopes she does a convincing job of lying about it, “that was rude.”

The man is staring at the both of them, gaze flicking between them like he’s not sure who to focus on, and his jaw is so slack Max has to imagine it’s going to be sore in about five minutes. “Um,” he says. “Your girlfriend?”

“Wife,” Chloe says shortly, and her knee digs into Max’s inner thigh before Max can step on her foot. It’s more than effective, but also cheating.

“I see,” the man says, sounding a little dazed. “I mean, that’s, uh… wow. Good on you. Have a good night, ladies.” And he disappears, at a weird kind of fast pace.

Chloe chuckles, leaning back in to whisper in Max’s ear, lips grazing, deliberate, at the shell of it. “Ten bucks says he’s off to have the jerk of his life.”

“Gross,” Max says automatically, then giggles when Chloe’s breath ghosts across somewhere ticklish. “Anyway, possessive much? I didn’t even hear you come up behind me.”

“It’s loud in here,” Chloe says dismissively, but the tips of her ears are turning red, which Max knows for sure is a flustered thing rather than an exertion thing. “Besides, I was about to come over anyway. I’m thinking it’s time to blow the joint. Unless…” She grins, and leans down so that their noses touch, so Max can’t escape her gaze. “You wanna watch me dance some more? Wanna take some more pictures?”

Half of Max really does want to, genuinely wants to keep watching Chloe let herself go and pulse white under the disco ball. The other half of her is entirely preoccupied with the knee Chloe has pressed between her legs. 

“Sure,” she says, because she is only human, at the end of the day. “Whatever you want.”

Chloe grins, wolfish, and lets their lips graze together so light it could be classified as accident. “Mm. Keep that attitude back in the room, would you? For me?”

“Not on your life,” Max says, and Chloe laughs, and says she prefers her like this anyway.

\---

It’s another three months after that when they find themselves in New York City, business and pleasure this time. Max has a website set up now for her photography, and commendations are beginning to roll in- the fact that she’ll drive anywhere for a job also helps her case, and getting paid for work is starting to feel like business instead of just surviving. It’s nice. It makes her feel like an adult.

Chloe, for her part, keeps finding bizarre jobs wherever they go, low-commitment and paying well enough to keep her satisfied. She likes keeping them on the road, likes being able to pay for gas and for dinner and the laundry machines. Max likes that too, likes that Chloe feels like she’s earning her keep, like she deserves what she’s getting. 

She hopes things stay like this, that they keep up this sense of movement. Time passes easily when they’re disregarding it in favor of mileage. 

Central Park is beautiful in the early summertime, the air bright and dry and the trees freshly green, excellent for pictures and pretty enough to please both Max and the couple she’s taking engagement photos for. She’s using a digital camera for these, one her mom had sent along for her birthday last year, and it feels a little heavy and awkward in her hands still, but she’s getting better. She’s getting good.

She talks to the couple in between shots, because she knows most people like that. “Did you meet here?”

“We did!” the woman says eagerly, giggling as her fiancé fits his hands around her waist. “Three years ago. I was still in school then, and he was out walking his dog. We just bumped into each other, and I spilled my coffee and he offered to buy me another one.”

Max hums, takes a photo of them with a huge rock, the sun, and a singular tree as a backdrop, and smiles at the result. “That’s so romantic.”

The man just chuckles, and the woman beams. “Isn’t it? That’s what everyone always says.”

“Okay, I’m going to take one more,” Max says. “Do you guys have any last requests? You’re more familiar with the park than I am.”

The two of them look at each other, and grin. “The bench,” they say in unison.

And they lead Max there, both privately laughing together, to a small nondescript green bench, and the man helps the woman up onto it, and they stand there together on the raggedy bench and kiss chastely, like whatever’s happening is a secret between them. 

The sun is high behind them, in the center of the trees, and they both look so genuinely happy when Max takes the photo, that it’s Max’s favorite shot of the day. She files it first on the camera roll as soon as it’s taken.

She shakes both their hands, promising she’ll send them the files tonight and eagerly awaits their feedback. “I hope you two are really happy together,” she says, and she really means it, thinking that love that holds secrets inside of itself is the most honest kind there is.

As soon as they’re out of sight, she goes to sit on the bench, scroll through the photos, when her phone starts ringing. She answers.

Ten minutes later, she’s laughing uncontrollably, hand cupped over her mouth, when it rings again. 

She stops laughing. 

\---

She doesn’t know how far the cab takes her or how long it takes to get there; the entire ride passes in a panic-tinted blur, and she just tosses a fifty-dollar bill into the front seat of the taxi before tearing out of it and through the hospital center doors.

The front lobby is bustling, as any city hospital is likely to be, but when the woman at the front desk sees Max come running in, she stands, probably trained for people who come in looking as though they’re ready to tear the place apart. “Ma’am-”

“Where’s Chloe?” is the first thing out of Max’s mouth, automatic, then she shakes her head, tries to get clearer. “Chloe, Chloe Price, she’s twenty years old and has blue hair, she was just hit- hit by a car, I’m her emergency contact-”

There’s another woman behind her now, another concerned-looking nurse, and people are staring and none of it matters because Chloe got hurt and Max wasn’t there and she doesn’t know where she is. “Miss, please calm down-”

Max just shakes her head, gesticulating with her hands but without any real intention to their movement other than to convey desperation. “Please, they said she was unconscious when they called me, is she awake now, is she in surgery, please, I have to see her-”

The nurse has a hand on her shoulder, more calming than restrictive, but it just makes Max feel even more hysterical, being kept away from Chloe again, _again_ , when she had convinced herself those days were done. “I’m sorry, honey, but it’s family only right-”

“She’s my wife!” Max screams, not even thinking about the words before they come out of her mouth, and then digging her heels into them. “She’s my wife, please, please-”

That gets the fingers to loosen on her forearm, and she sags into herself without their pressure; the nurse looks slightly stunned, but still manages a smile nonetheless. “Well,” she says, and puts a hand on the small of Max’s back instead, ushers her forward. Max goes with the motion, hurried and tripping. “If that’s the case, you go on. Second door on the left.”

Max doesn’t remember the path to get to the second door on the left, just that she gets there, out of breath, to see Chloe sitting up in bed, awake and bright-eyed, and looking at the door expectantly. There’s a clean white bandage wrapped around her head, blue bangs overlapping against it, and she looks fine, she’s fine.

“Damn, Caulfield,” she says, pushing some hair out of her face and grinning. “Was that you I heard howling in the hallway? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Oh my _god _,” Max says weakly, and next thing she knows she’s on her knees next to the bed with her face buried in the sheets, the top of her head nudging against Chloe’s warm thighs. She draws in a ragged breath and lets out an even more ragged one, and grips the blankets tight with one hand, testing the reality of them.__

__After a moment, she feels Chloe’s hand tangle in her hair. “Hey,” she says, her voice gentler than before. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” When Max doesn’t respond except to groan, muffled, into the bed, she continues, sounding amused, “You better not be crying, or I’ll kick your ass. I didn’t even cry and I’m the one who got hit by a car.”_ _

__She’s dry-eyed when she lifts her chin to glare up at Chloe, but if her eyes are rimmed with red, then she can’t help that. Chloe just grins, and keeps stroking through her hair. “Good. For a minute I thought I’d have to be comforting you, which, selfish.”_ _

__“You’re okay?” Max says, coming up to sit on the edge of the bed to examine the bandages more closely, look around the room. There’s an IV drip next to the bed, and while it’s not connected to Chloe, it’s enough to make her shudder with memory._ _

__Chloe’s gaze follows hers, sees Max shiver, and her expression sobers. She lets go off Max’s hair to lift both arms and drag her into an embrace, lets Max’s head settle against her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she murmurs. “Fine, actually. It could have been way worse. The doctor said I have a mild concussion, that I just need to take it easy for, like, two weeks. And considering how good I am at taking it easy, it’ll barely be like I’m hurt at all.”_ _

__Max isn’t buying it. Carefully, she pulls out of Chloe’s arms to touch three fingers to her temple, where the bandage is taped together. Chloe’s gaze follows her hand until it’s out of her peripheral vision, then sits very straight when Max’s thumb brushes the skin beneath her ear. “Does it hurt?”_ _

__She’s about to say no, Max can tell, but then they lock eyes, and she nods, just slightly. “Not too bad,” she concedes. “Nothing some casual meds can’t fix.” When Max gives her a cold stare, she lifts her hands in defense. “I mean ibuprofen, jeez! Don’t give me the mom look.”_ _

__Sighing, Max lets her hand fall from Chloe’s temple, where she can still feel her pulse beating even beneath the tape, to her cheek, cupping it and relieved in the warmth of the skin. “I should have been there,” she mutters._ _

__Chloe shakes her head, but minutely, so Max’s hand won’t come dislodged. “Hey,” she says seriously, and has to duck her head a little to meet Max’s gaze. “You can’t be watching out for me twenty-four seven. You wouldn’t get nearly as many good pictures that way.”_ _

__“I need to be watching out for you,” Max says miserably. “That’s my job.”_ _

__At that, Chloe’s gaze flickers, and she reaches out her own hand to touch Max’s cheek, in mirror image of Max’s touching hers, lifts her face so their gazes meet. “Hey,” she says seriously. “It’s a two-way street, okay? It’s not just you having to watch out for me. We’re a team.”_ _

__Now Max’s eyes are filling with tears for real, and Chloe chuckles. “Oh, here we go. Come here, you weird sap.”_ _

__They’re both maybe a millimeter from a kiss when a voice behind them says, “Ms. Price, I- oh, hello?”_ _

__And they’re not kids anymore, so they don’t spring apart, but they still have to draw back, Max has to scooch so she’s sitting at the foot of the bed instead of the head of it. When she turns her head to look, there’s a doctor standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand and staring at her curiously._ _

__“Hi,” she says, then tacks on a, “sorry,” because it feels necessary._ _

__“Oh, it’s quite all right,” the doctor says, crossing to the other side of the bed and pressing the back of her hand to Chloe’s forehead. “I’d received word from the front desk that you were here, I wasn’t looking to interrupt. Ms. Price, is this your wife?”_ _

__Max shoots a pointed gaze in Chloe’s direction, but Chloe doesn’t even look at her, just smiles sunnily up at the other woman. “Yep,” she says cheerfully, “this’s the little woman. Max, Doctor James. Doctor James, Max Price.”_ _

__When Chloe’s out of Dr. James’s line of sight, she gives Max the most shit-eating grin imaginable, and Max has to look away to keep it together. Instead, she looks up. “Doctor, how is she?”_ _

__“What she is is very lucky,” Dr. James says critically, flipping a sheet over the clipboard. “I’d say she sustained the lightest injury possible from the accident. You’ll be able to go home tonight, I think, but you’ll have to lay low for a few days, understand?”_ _

__“Sure,” Chloe says, smug. “In the cult of domesticity Max and I have cooked up, shouldn’t be a problem at all.”_ _

__When Dr. James looks in Max’s direction again, she has to ungrit her teeth and hide her raised fist behind her back to smile pleasantly up at her. Chloe cackles silently behind the doctor’s back, and Dr. James raises her eyebrow. “Pardon me for saying so,” she says, sounding more amused than skeptical, “but aren’t you two a little young to be married?”_ _

__They look at each other, and Max just shrugs. Chloe grins. “What can I say, doc,” she says, stretching back out on the bed. “Time doesn’t matter when you’re this madly in love.”_ _

__Concussed or not, Max is going to beat her up when they get home._ _

__It’s even worse when, hours later, they’re leaving the hospital to the woman at the front desk’s singsong cry of, “Goodbye, Ms. Price and Mrs. Price!” and Chloe absolutely loses it when the doors swing shut._ _

__“Is that what you were yelling about before you came in?” she wheezes, doubled over at her knees and gazing up at Max with eyes that are tearing up with laughter. “That you’re my wife? Is that how you tricked them into letting you in, you lying liar?”_ _

__Max pulls her back into standing with a hand on her elbow and a, “Shouldn’t you be relaxing, Miss I Got Hit By a Car and Didn’t Cry?” but it’s flustered, she’s flustered, and Chloe laughs about it for the entire cab ride back to the hotel._ _

__\---_ _

__They’re lying in bed together later that night with the light on, Chloe’s head pillowed on Max’s stomach as Max leafs through the hotel pamphlet, when she says, “I’m really sorry about this, Max. I know we’re super tight on funds right now, the last thing we needed was for me to go to the hospital.”_ _

__Chloe’s been pouting for a full half an hour (“Chloe, I’m telling you we can’t, the doctor said you needed to be relaxing-” “Then we can have relaxing sex, come on. It wasn’t on the list of things I couldn’t do.” “It’s implied.”), so Max had been steadily ignoring her whining for the past five minutes. Now she drops the leaflet, and she’s about to say what she always says, that the last thing she cares about is insurance and funds when Chloe’s still here with her, alive and complaining and warm where her head sits against Max’s diaphragm, but when she looks at Chloe’s stern gaze she can tell that the same old response isn’t gonna cut it this time._ _

__Instead she says, “Chloe, you don’t need to worry about that. I have good news.”_ _

__Eyes narrow but settling more comfortably into Max’s skin nonetheless, Chloe says, “Yeah? What?”_ _

__Max just grins down at her, runs a hand through the roughness of her hair. “I’ve been commissioned for a gallery,” she says. “Next month. I just got the call this afternoon, we’ve been invited to attend the show in Massachusetts when it opens. It’s- it’s a lot of money, Chlo.”_ _

__For a moment Chloe’s gaze just follows her face, as if looking for some counterfeit there, then she sits up, quickly enough that Max almost protests, and is leaning in to kiss her. “God, you’re amazing,” she says, so reverently that Max blushes. Then, “Oh, fuck, what are we going to wear?”_ _

__\---_ _

__The hotel in Boston is the nicest place they’ve ever stayed without having to lie about marital status, and they get picked up in a limo to be driven to the gallery. Max has never been in a limo before, actually._ _

__“I don’t know about wearing the hat,” Chloe says uncertainly, and she’s been fidgeting with her beanie for the last five miles. Max just grins affectionately at her, knocking their ankles together and watching Chloe’s fingers tease uncertainly at the edge of her hair. “I mean, this is art, right? Hat-wearing is disrespectful, isn’t it?” She’s about to pull the beanie off, then she pauses again. “Wait, but if I took it off everyone would see my roots, and they’d be like, who is that slovenly unticketed street urchin-”_ _

__Max starts laughing, leaning closer to her across the leather. “Stop it, you’re not a slovenly unticketed street urchin,” she says, and reaches for Chloe’s anxious hand to drag it away from her hair and twine it with hers. “You look really nice.”_ _

__Which is the truth, of course, not just because Chloe’s beautiful but because she actually does clean up nice. She’s in a black suit jacket and tie, pressed neatly over a white button down and nice pants, and the beanie is fine, really, it completes the look. It makes her look like Chloe. Max likes it._ _

__Still, Chloe’s not convinced. “You’re just saying that because you’re like my trophy bride,” she says grumpily, “you look great and I look like your shit older brother who just vandalized the nearest alley.”_ _

__“Not true!” Max says. “We both look great.” Her mom, after sounding teary on the phone for about twenty minutes last week, had sent down her nice black dress, the one for formal events that she didn’t think she’d get much opportunity to wear again, so she’s in that and Chloe’s bullet necklace. It’s been a while since she wore a skirt, and she’s self-conscious about it, about the way it brushes against her knees._ _

__Chloe’s rolling her eyes, and likely about to say something else self-deprecating, but then the limo pulls to a halt outside a huge shiny building, tinged with the whiteness of marble, and the chauffeur says, “Enjoy your visit, Ms. Caulfield,” which they have to presume is the cue to get out._ _

__They haven’t even taken four steps out of the limo when they come to stand in front of an enormous banner, announcing ARTISTS OF THE NEW WAVE : WORKS INSPIRED BY YOUTH OF THE NATION, and they come to stand in front of it, hands still clasped together._ _

__One of Max’s photos, the Golden Gate Bridge half-lit and half in darkness, is in the upper right corner of the flapping banner, and she can tell when Chloe sees it because her hand is squeezed tight a few seconds later. She laughs, a little embarrassed. “The youth of the nation, makes me feel like I’m in seventh grade.”_ _

__“Shut up,” Chloe says, and when Max glances at her, she’s still gazing up at that photo, mouth slightly open and eyes solemn. Then she looks at Max, her gaze dead serious. “Max, this is incredible. I’m so proud of you.”_ _

__There’s really no better response to that then to roll up onto her tiptoes to kiss her, and the way Chloe hums into her mouth tells her she hadn’t expected any less._ _

__\---_ _

__The gallery itself is a strange experience, surreal and half-haunting. It reminds Max a little of that time in San Francisco that never happened, people approaching her and congratulating her and asking for contact information. When their words echo a little too loud in her ears, she has to find Chloe again, squeeze her hand, her arm, let her rest the point of her chin on the top of Max’s head to feel its weight._ _

__In fairness to Chloe, there are some parts of it that are hard on both of them- whenever someone sees Arcadia Bay listed in the program as Max’s hometown and says, in all sincerity, “Oh, you _poor_ dears,” it’s difficult to maintain composure, to hold onto Chloe like a lover and not like a lifeboat. But Chloe stays by her, flits around to look at other works but never far enough to be out of sight. It’s comforting, relieving, and Max loves her for it. She really does._ _

__They go to see Max’s section last, because Chloe insists on savoring it. “Best for last,” she says firmly, dragging Max to the rightmost section of the gallery after about three hours of looking at everything else. “You ready?”_ _

__“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Max says warily, “it’s a lot of just regular stuff, and you’re going to have seen a lot of it before-”_ _

__Chloe comes to a stop so abruptly that Max crashes into her back, their hands tangling at the wrist awkwardly. “Ow, Chloe, what-”_ _

__She lets go and moves to the left of her, to see, and then realizes, oh, of course the centerpiece picture would be the first thing she sees. That’s how galleries work._ _

__“That’s me,” Chloe says faintly._ _

__And it is, it’s her in the center of the photo, or at least the back of her. Blown up at the center of the room is the photo Max had taken back on their first day in Vegas, the one where Chloe stands in front of the window, translucent and otherworldly in the light of the city._ _

__“Yeah, well,” Max says, and wishes this dress had pockets so she had something to do with her hands. “It was my favorite.”_ _

__“You absolute fucking nerd,” Chloe whispers, in her indoor voice, and her eyes are looking a little too bright and if she starts crying Max is going to kill her because Max will just burst into tears if Chloe starts crying. “I literally can’t believe you.” She takes a deep breath, presses a kiss to Max’s head so quick that it’s barely a feather of a breath, then grabs her hand. “Show me the other ones.”_ _

__So they look at the other ones. The Las Vegas one isn’t the only one Chloe’s in, but it is where she’s most prominently herself- in other shots she’s a flash of blue in the corner of a boat crossing the river, a blurry face laughing in front of a street lit up at night by a thousand buzzing lanterns. In other photos, there are simpler things- a fallen leaf in the center of an empty street, the Empire State Building in near-complete darkness with all the other buildings around it lit up. They’re Max’s best photos, all of them new and spurred from their life on the road._ _

__Chloe keeps murmuring soft sounds of wonder and incredulity at each new one they come in front of, but half the time when Max turns to look at her, she’s already looking at Max, with so much fondness in her gaze that Max just keeps feeling smaller and shyer each time their gazes catch._ _

__They’ve come in front of the last one- an exceptionally clear puddle Max had found in St. Louis that gave off an unprecedentedly gorgeous reflection of the city above, when Chloe leans down to whisper in her ear, “You’re amazing, Max.”_ _

__Max bats blindly in her general direction. “Stop.”_ _

__“I mean it,” Chloe mutters, hand tight around hers. “You are genuinely the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”_ _

__It’s so surprisingly solemn that Max pauses, looks over her shoulder in surprise to see Chloe staring at her in total, bizarre sincerity. “Thank… you?” she says, then winces. “I mean. I feel the same way about you, Chloe. I really do.” Chloe opens her mouth, probably to rebuke, so she hastily continues, “I love you, you know.”_ _

__At that, Chloe shuts her mouth again, and just looks at her for a really long time. Max is about two seconds away from starting to fidget when Chloe mutters, “I love you too,” and kisses her, earnest._ _

__Five minutes later, she’s waiting for Chloe at the exit of the Max Caulfield section, watching her trail around the room for a final time and rolling her eyes whenever she stops to take a picture on her phone of the title card or of the blown up photos (all the originals are back in the hotel room anyway, jeez) when a feeble-sounding voice behind her says, “Excuse me, but are you Ms. Caulfield?”_ _

__She turns, bag clutched securely in her arms, to see a very tiny and sweet-looking old woman behind her, smiling up at her pleasantly. Smiling back is automatic. “Yes, that’s me. Thank you so much for coming.”_ _

__“Well, I just want to congratulate you, young lady,” the woman says, reaching out for Max’s hand with her own knobbed one to give it a gentle pat. “You must be so proud of yourself. This is by far my favorite exhibit in years, and I’ve been here for many many galleries. You have such clear talent.”_ _

__Which, of course, sends all sorts of endorphins rocketing around in Max’s head, and she just squeezes the woman’s hand back, grinning. “Thank you so, so much, ma’am. You don’t know how much that means to me.”_ _

__The woman nods, pleased, then leans in, conspiratorial. Max can’t help but lean in too. “And you know,” the old woman says, “pardon me for saying so, I didn’t mean to be intruding, but. I wanted to say, also, that you and your wife are so lovely together. It warmed my heart watching the two of you.”_ _

__Max says, “Chloe?” dumbly, because it’s the only thing that comes into her head, and the woman just nods peaceably._ _

__“The way you two look at each other is so sweet,” the woman continues, apparently unnoticing of Max’s surprise. “It reminded me of being young and in love with my own husband. I just wanted to wish you two all the best, and I hope to see your work again in the future.” She pats Max’s hand one more time, smiles pleasantly, then totters away._ _

__When Chloe comes up to Max a moment later, apparently satisfied in her evidence collecting, Max is still standing in the exact same place, flabbergasted. “So what did Granny want with you?” Then, taking a better look at Max’s expression, “What, did she say something creepy?”_ _

__Max straightens up, still gazing into the distance, and shakes her head. “Just congratulating me,” she says distantly, and Chloe just shrugs and grabs her hand again._ _

__\---_ _

__It’s only about an hour later when she realizes Chloe’s acting weird._ _

__Not so weird that she should have noticed earlier, but there are just little things, things people who weren’t Max probably wouldn’t pick up on. Chloe keeps fidgeting with her hair, her hat, the cuffs of her sleeves. They go out for dinner and it takes her ten minutes to figure out what to order instead of three seconds, and when their meals do come, she barely touches hers. Max means to say something at the table, but Chloe’s so eager to talk about the gallery that she doesn’t have the heart or will to interrupt her._ _

__Finally, they’re in the back of a taxi and heading back to the hotel, Chloe’s arm draped over Max’s shoulders and Max’s head settles against her collarbone, and the conversation comes to a lull. Max waits in silence for thirty seconds, then says, “Hey, by the way. Are you feeling okay?”_ _

__Chloe goes stiff, which is a better answer than her split-second-too-late, “Yeah, I’m fine. What makes you say that?”_ _

__“I don’t know, you’ve just been acting a little weird ever since we left the museum,” Max says, toying with the bullet necklace around her throat. “And don’t say you haven’t been, you didn’t even eat your fries.”_ _

__The resulting mutter of, “wasn’t hungry,” is hardly convincing, and when Max leans up to stare Chloe down, she lifts up her hands defensively. “I just wasn’t, I swear!”_ _

__Not buying it, Max touches lightly at Chloe’s temple. “Is your head hurting again? The doctor said-”_ _

__“It’s not my head!” Chloe says insistently, and swipes at her temple, catching Max’s hand and holding it tight and away. “I’m really, really fine, Max, I promise.”_ _

__Their gazes stay locked for another few seconds, then Max flops back down on top of her, too tired to argue a moot point. “If you’re sure. Anyway, my feet are killing me.”_ _

__“You should never wear heels again, it’s weird having you not be short.”_ _

__\---_ _

__But it happens again when they get to the hotel. Chloe starts looking shifty when they get in the elevator, and then when it dings she says, “You go ahead, I’m gonna stop in the bathroom for a second.”_ _

__Max crosses her arms, Chloe’s suit jacket now clutched in the crease between them. “Because you’re feeling totally fine?”_ _

__“Because I have to take a piss, Max, Jesus,” Chloe says, and if her voice is a little sharp then the kiss she presses to Max’s nose takes the edge off. “I’ll be right there, I promise.”_ _

__“You better be,” Max says warily, and heads down the hall, stringing her index finger back and forth across the necklace as she walks._ _

__She tosses Chloe’s jacket onto the couch by the door before she flicks the lights on, turning back towards the door and feeling in the dark for the switch. The lights are weirdly gold and bright when they flicker to life, and she’s about to check to see if housekeeping replaced the bulbs when she sees the room, really sees it._ _

__The sheets and their pajamas are folded nicely at the foot of the bed, but that’s not what has her gasp- the entire room is stringed across with lines and lines of Polaroid photos, along every wall, illuminated by wires of golden Christmas lights flickering beneath them. When Max hurries forward to stare at them, they’re easy to recognize- they’re all hers, after all, the hundreds of pictures she’s been carrying with them on their journey._ _

__The silhouette of a seashore. Chloe dancing under strobe lights. The two of them balanced against a railing, Max laughing as Chloe leans beyond her and grins. The photo out of Max’s diary of them in bed together back in Arcadia Bay, another older one of them as pirates together, as kids. One Chloe had taken just last week of Max sitting in a hotel windowsill, just as she glanced curiously over her shoulder. All of them, every single one she’d been carrying, pinned carefully in artistic reverence across the entire room._ _

__It’s unbelievable. It’s beautiful._ _

__Staggering back a few feet, back towards the entrance, she hears the door open and shut behind her. But it’s impossible to tear her eyes away from the strings of photos, from the way the whole room has come together like something out of a movie, a dream. “Oh, Chloe,” she murmurs, her hands pressed to her mouth. “How on earth did you set this- oh my _god_!” _ _

__Because when she turns, Chloe’s down on one knee, open ring box in one hand, looking exceptionally nervous and fidgety and gorgeous, just gorgeous. She’s just in her white shirt now and her tie’s loosened around her neck, and the way she’s looking up at Max is near despondent, anxious and devoted. The first thing she says is, “We don’t have to, if it’s not what you want.”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Max says, with her hands still clasped tight over her mouth._ _

__“But, you know,” Chloe says, and glances to the side, as if steeling herself. “I know we’re still really young, but we keep saying that we are, and I thought it would be- you know, like in the wise words of Beyonce-”_ _

__The shrieking giggle that escapes from behind Max’s fingers surprises her nearly as much as seeing Chloe knelt in front of her. “Stop! Oh my god! Propose to me like a real person!”_ _

__Chloe’s flittering gaze pauses, and raises slow to Max’s face, searching. Max lowers her hands, hoping her smile isn’t too dopey or weird or stupid enough that Chloe will fall out of love with her right then and get up and put the ring back in her pocket._ _

__She doesn’t. Her gaze goes serious, and determined. “Max Caulfield,” she says, and Max chokes on something in her throat that’s half-laugh half-sob. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I love seeing you smile, and laugh, and watching you sleep, and take pictures, and drink coffee. You make me so, so happy, and you make me feel like I deserve to be happy, and I always want to feel like that and make you feel like that. I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”_ _

__Max is crying now, laughing through her tears, and Chloe’s grinning up at her, the corners of her eyes glimmering but she’s holding it together to finish her speech. “So, will you marry me?”_ _

__“YES,” Max shouts, going for top volume to manage her voice around the crying, and then Chloe’s on her feet and they’re kissing and crying together and laughing against each other, and it’s messy, it’s perfect. “Wait, wait, you have to put the ring on me,” and Chloe’s sliding the gold band onto her left hand’s ring finger, kissing the knuckles as it passes beyond them, and Max is pressing their foreheads together and feeling the damp flutter of Chloe’s eyelashes against her skin._ _

__\---_ _

__Later, when they’re lying in bed and she’s tracing down Chloe’s bare back idly with the hand that now glitters gold in the dark, a thought strikes her and she suddenly goes still. “Oh my god. I should call my mom and tell her.”_ _

__Chloe, who’d made a grumpy noise when Max’s stroking had paused, goes still for a moment, then rolls over to look at her. “Um. She might already know?”_ _

__Max’s eyes narrow. “Did you text my mom about us getting engaged before I did.”_ _

__“Not… exactly?” When Max’s eyes just go narrower, she huffs a little, then says, slowly and a little embarrassed, “I might have… called your parents, last week. Before I bought the ring. To ask for, like, their blessing.”_ _

__Her gasp of, “you what?” isn’t necessarily a yell, but it does result in an annoyed pounding of the wall from its other side by their neighbors (not for the first time that night), so she has to whisper, “Are you for real?”_ _

__Even in the dark, she can see Chloe blushing. “Listen, if I’m going to make an honest woman out of you, I need to do it right.” She flips over to gaze at the ceiling, overtly avoiding Max’s delighted gaze. “Your dad answered the phone, but I started talking about wanting permission and I think your mom might have punched him out or something. She kinda took over the conversation after that.” She groans. “It was terrible. She cried a lot. In the theoretical situation where you turned me down, I was more freaked out about having to explain to her that you said no than you saying no.” She glances over to look at Max again, who’s biting down on her smile to keep it from spreading too wide and hurting her cheeks. “Anyway, you should be the one who tells Joyce. But save it for tomorrow, I’m too tired to deal with that right now.”_ _

__Fair enough. Still grinning, Max lays back down again, then wiggles closer to Chloe, lays her head on her chest. “Hey Chloe?”_ _

__“Mm? What?”_ _

__“You’re really, really cute.”_ _

__“Shut the fuck up, I’m hardcore.”_ _

__Max smiles wide as she can, closes her eyes, listens to the sound of Chloe’s heart beating. “I can’t believe I get to marry you.”_ _

__Chloe doesn’t say anything back, but her heartbeat does speed up, so that’s something._ _

__After a few minutes of comfortable silence, though, suddenly she speaks again. “Wait, hang on. Who’s going to take whose last name?”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE PROPOSAL FICS.
> 
> This one got churned out in like. A day and a half. Because I love proposal fics. I don't even know if this is going to be my last proposal fic, but I do know that I need to stop writing and focus on the math test I have tomorrow. Hope you all enjoy!


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